


Hanahaki

by sunny_impalas



Series: Original Work [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Blood, Flowers, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Sad, Vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-01-15 13:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18500314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunny_impalas/pseuds/sunny_impalas
Summary: ‘Anemone: Forsaken, forgotten love, affection.’





	1. Chapter 1

‘ _ Hanahaki Disease: A disease which is the effect of the patient’s romantic feelings being unrequited. This causes a flower to grow in the patient's lungs, which will grow until it renders breathing impossible. The disease can be cured with the roots being removed, but the operation renders the patient incapable of having romantic feelings. It can also be cured if the patients feelings are returned. _

_ Symptoms: Coughing/vomiting up blood and flower petals, difficulty breathing. _ ’

He swallowed and looked up at the doctor. He felt something rise in his throat and he quickly grabbed the trash bin to cough up whatever it was in his throat. He pulled away and grimaced when he saw the yellow, blood covered. petals. He looked up at the doctor, and she shrugged helplessly.

“You’d still be able to feel platonic love and familial love, just not romantic feelings,” She reminded him, “nobody's really survived without the operation.”

He was quiet for a few minutes before saying, “You say that like people  _ have _ before.”

She smiled sadly and nodded, she tucked some of her red hair behind her ear. She scratched her cheek as she spoke, “Well, yes, but there’s only about three hundred out of the millions who are affected every year.”

He nodded and swallowed, he could still taste the almost plastic of the flower petals.

There was an uneasy quietness that had settled in the room. A woman was crying down the hall, a man screaming in agony. Maybe they had just lost a child, or maybe they were siblings and they had just lost a parent.

The thought of lost love made more petals rise in his throat and he quickly spat them into the trash. He grimaced at the smell of stale blood that had settled there. He stared down at the petals and hesitantly grabbed one from the puddle of new and old blood. He stared at it and looked up at the doctor, she smiled slightly and grabbed it from him. 

She wiped away the blood from the yellow petal, she glanced back up at the taller man, who was clearly weak from the illness. 

“It’s a sunflower petal, you have a good chance that the person you love has feelings for you too.” The doctor said, trying to give her patient some hope.

He smiled at her and nodded, “I’ll think about the operation, and, uh, just a quick question, will I still be able to work?”

The doctor nodded, adjusting her shirt. “Yes, at least until the flower makes it too hard to breathe. What do you do for work?”

“I’m the manager at the local grocery store, I also bag items there too.” He explained, getting up from the table and walking to the door.

Before the doctor could say anything else, he walked out of the room and down the hall. He passed a few people before he had to cough again, he covered his mouth with his hand, sighing at the sight of the bloody flower petals sticking to his hand. Somebody passing him noticed and gasped.

The woman touched his shoulder and gave him a sympathetic look, “I’m so sorry.”

He nodded and continued to walk on, grabbing a wet wipe and wiping off his hand. He couldn’t shake the look the woman had, or what she had said. It was almost as if she was saying sorry for a death, almost like he was already dead. 

He went on to his car and quickly got in. He buckled his seat belt and started to drive. He was going to die, but he wasn’t going to die because of a car accident.

 

—

 

When he got home he was almost immediately surrounded by his friends. They pulled him to sit on the couch, staring at him intently.

“So?” His brother asked, tapping his foot rapidly. “What did the doctor say?”

He swallowed and looked down, he licked his lips. He couldn’t seem to get the taste of stale blood out of his mouth these days. What was he supposed to say? That he was fine? Tell them the truth?

He finally made his choice and took a deep breath, his heart felt like it was beating out of his chest as he made his confession.

“I was right. It’s Hanahaki Disease.”

The room went silent instantly, it was like a morgue. Or like a funeral room already full of mourners. He looked up and around at his friends. He didn’t want to die, not this young. His eyes finally landed on the one who had caused him his illness. They made eye contact for a second before he looked away.

“W-what’re you gonna do?”

He shrugged helplessly, patting his youngest brother on the shoulder.

“I’ll figure something out, don’t worry.”

They all watched as he stood up and left the room.

 

— 

 

He sat in the living room and watched as the older man walked out. He looked around at his friends and they all looked down when they heard the horrible coughing come from his room.

He knew what he should do, but what if it wasn’t him causing it? He shook his head minutely and leaned his elbows on his knees. He was sat on the floor cross-legged. He didn’t know what to do, he felt horrible.

They all looked up when they heard rapid footsteps come out of the man’s room and into the bathroom. They all knew what was happening.

He swallowed and stood up, “I’ll go check on ‘im.”

And as he left the others dispersed out of the room. He sighed and slowly walked into the bathroom, frowning when he saw the other man was still vomiting. He walked over and kneeled down behind him, rubbing his back gently.

The touch almost instantly caused another wave of half digested food, blood, and flower petals to spill out of his mouth. His frown deepened and he brushed his friend’s golden-brown hair away from his forehead.

“You’re gonna be okay.” He whispered, still rubbing his back.

The older man laughed softly and nodded, “I sure hope so.”

 

—

 

He didn’t want to die, but lord he sure felt like he was going to everytime he breathed. The sickness was starting to take it’s hold on him, on certain parts of his arms you could see the stems start to poke out from underneath his skin. He felt tired all the time, out of breath. He could still hold down most food, that was good.

But he was vomiting and coughing up the petals and tiny flowers more often, that wasn’t good. But he had developed an odd sort of appreciation for sunflowers.   
He had looked for the meaning in an old gardening book the person who had caused this illness owned.

‘ _ Sunflowers are symbols of adoration, loyalty, and longevity. _ ’

He thought the longevity part of the meaning was funny, seeing as the flower was slowly killing him from the inside out. He had also become oddly at peace with the thought of death, the idea of it. The concept of just not living anymore.

He didn’t want it to happen though, obviously, nobody did. Who ever wanted to die, nobody. Unless you were suicidal, of course. But he  _ wasn’t _ , he still wanted to live. He still wanted to be able to get married, to the person who was causing him his illness, of course.

He sighed and leaned against the wall, it hurt to breathe. He had gone in for an x-ray yesterday, the flower was occupying almost half of his lungs now. He’d need to stop the physical labor soon. Maybe even now, his boss would understand. He had said he’d still pay him the double wage while he was sick.

Everybody acted like they were walking on eggshells around him since he had been diagnosed too. That was the worst part of the whole thing, he didn’t want people to think he was dying.

He sat at the table, a piece of paper in front of him and a pencil. He grabbed the pencil and started to write.

‘ _ Dear Quill, _

_ I love you, _ ’

Before he could continue writing he had to cough up some more petals, he swallowed when he saw how many more petals were mixed into the blood. Was that normal?

He shook the thought off and started to write again

‘ _ I love you, please don’t blame yourself for the illness. It’s not your fault, it’s mine. Please don’t hate me, and don’t let anyone tell you it’s your fault for me being sick. _ ’

More petals, that was barely a minute between coughs. That wasn’t normal, and he knew that. He also noticed how much harder it was to breathe, was the letter speeding the growth up? God, he hoped not. He just had to finish the letter, then he’d be okay with dying.

‘ _ I love you, please don’t blame yourself for the illness. It’s not your fault, it’s mine. Please don’t hate me, and don’t let anyone tell you it’s your fault for me being sick. I love you unconditionally, hence the flower currently suffocating me. _ ’

More petals. More blood.

‘ _ Just know that I love you. _ ’

He coughed up more petals, an entire flower coming with it He was dying. He was dying right now. He’d surely die if he kept writing this letter. And in all honesty, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

‘ _ I love you. I love you. I l _ ’

He pushed the paper away from him, grabbing the trash can and heaving more and more petals, blood, and small sunflowers into it. He felt the vines start to make their way out of his mouth and around his neck. He started to panic and grabbed and pulled at the vines, but he couldn’t pull them loose.

He started to feel hot, he couldn’t breathe. Plant vines were wrapping themselves around his neck and squeezing, so that made sense. He didn’t want to die, he felt tears start fall down his face, but he couldn’t tell if they were water or blood.

He fell forward onto the table, reaching for his phone, it would be helpful if he could manage to talk. He brushed the screen with his finger tips, the cold glass the last thing he felt. He tried to scream as he felt the vines start to invade his body. He was suffocating. He tugged weakly at the vines at his neck. He choked out a final word, that no one except the walls and the table and flower would be able to hear.

“Quill..."

 

— 

 

He and the rest of their friends all screamed when they saw the body laying limply at the table. He rushed forward to the older man, his heart stopping when he saw the pale skin, still open eye and sunflower hanging out of the man’s mouth.

He was too late. The other man was gone. He was frozen in place, helpless to do anything else but stare at the corpse. He wanted to run, he wanted to run as far away as his legs could take him. But his legs were seemingly glued to the tile floor. Everything else was a blur, all he could do was stare at the corpse.

The body  was covered with vines and flowers and blood. The flowers were sprouting out from his skin and underneath his clothes. The vines were wrapped tightly around his neck, blood spilling over them in some places. The sunflower in his mouth was covered in blood and there seemed to be a little bit of his lungs. The thought made his stomach churn. The blood in his veins had been replaced with vines.

On his arms, the vines had forced themselves from out of his muscles and skin, blood pouring down his arms. His face was tinted a faint purple, the green vines more prominent under his eyes and on his cheeks. One of his eyes had been replaced with one of the bright yellow flowers. The blood dried to his face, but still pouring off his nose and dripping onto the wood of the table.

It could’ve been beautiful. It could’ve been if it hadn’t been so bloody. If it hadn’t been so disgustingly grotesque. If it hadn’t been a million more things.   
It would’ve been beautiful if it hadn’t been him.

He noticed the letter, that it had his name on it. He pulled it out from underneath the vine wrapped arm. He started to read it but couldn’t get past the first five words without wanting to vomit, the taste of acid stinging his tongue.

He was in shock, staring at the body of the man in front of him. It wasn’t just any man though, was it. It was him. It was  _ Alden _ , it was his Alden. The man he met in the third grade, the man he had slowly fallen in love with in Junior year of high school.

His throat felt like sand paper and he coughed into his hand, his blood running cold when he saw the flower petals. They were Anemone petals.   
‘ _ Anemone: Forsaken, forgotten love, affection. _ ’


	2. Forsaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bittersweet end.

He had lost everything. He had lost his well being, some of his close friends, and the one man he really and truly loved. He figured there was nothing else he could do, he was forsaken to die by suffocating on the flowers currently filling the space in his lungs.

And he was happy to die like that, he felt he deserved it for not telling the other man his feelings. And because he didn’t say anything, Alden had  _ died _ . Such a wonderful life just gone in the blink of an eye. He said his name so much, muttering the five letter word under his breath whenever he could.

He knew he couldn’t love anyone else, he was completely in love with a dead man. And soon enough, he’d be just like him. Alden wouldn’t want that for him, at least he didn't think he would. So he decided to have the vines that invading his lungs removed. He felt he didn’t deserve to feel love like that anyway, if he was the cause of Alden’s death, who says he wouldn’t cause someone else to die?

He made the appointment, he remembered the meeting he had had with the doctor clear as day. He had to sign a wager, that he was absolutely sure that he wanted to have them removed. He signed it without even reading the fine print. He was absolutely sure.

When he got back from the office he told his friends. They all tried to tell him not to, he’d find someone else, he could still be cured by falling in love with someone else. But he didn’t listen. He felt his only two options were to have the flowers removed or to die. He knew he couldn’t find anyone else. He loved Alden, and he felt he had failed in the worst way possible.

Death was his constant, albeit unwanted, companion. He felt it always leaning over his shoulder. He felt it brush against him when he felt like he couldn’t get enough air, he heard it laugh when he had to rest after just walking a few steps. But he knew he was going to beat it, for now, at least.

It was a week until his operation, although he didn’t know if the operation was to save his life or to save his sanity. He had fought against going to visit Alden’s grave, but he hadn’t refrained from reading that damn letter Alden had been writing when he died. It was stained in one corner, an ugly splotch of blood ruining the otherwise perfect, crisp white paper.

He was sat on his bed, hunched over the paper as he read it over and over and over again. This letter was like his one entryway into heaven and hell, and he was standing in purgatory. His chest hurt, but he couldn’t tell whether it was because of how much it hurt to read the letter, or because the flower was growing.

‘ _ Dear Quill, _

_ I love you. _

_ I love you, please don’t blame yourself for the illness. It’s not your fault, it’s mine. Please don’t hate me, and don’t let anyone tell you it’s your fault for me being sick. _ ’

He felt tears start to stream down his face, he wished he could reach through the paper and to the man who had written it. He loved him. He wanted to tell him that so badly. He just wanted to tell him that so they could be okay. No one would have had to die.

He sniffed and kept reading, this was his punishment.

‘ _ I love you, please don’t blame yourself for the illness. It’s not your fault, it’s mine. Please don’t hate me, and don’t let anyone tell you it’s your fault for me being sick. I love you unconditionally, hence the flower currently suffocating me. _ ’

He shook his head, tears still pouring down his cheeks as he let out a dry laugh. He found it amazing how, even when he was dying, Alden was able to make jokes like that.

‘ _ Just know that I love you. I love you. I love you. I l- _ ’

The letter cut off. He figured that was when the flower finally started to take the final shot at the elder man. He wanted to just be able to say sorry to the other man, to hold him one more time.

He sighed and grabbed his phone, he needed to distract himself. He clicked on one of his playlists and hit shuffle. When the first song started to play he nearly chucked his phone across his room. He couldn’t seem to get away from Alden.

The song was one of the dead man’s favorites, and he clung his phone to his chest and fell back against his bed sheets, more tears spilling as he listened.

‘ _ My lover’s got humor _

_ She’s the giggle at a funeral _

_ Knows everybody’s disapproval _

_ I should’ve worshipped her sooner _ ’

He thought the lyrics were some sort of sick joke from whoever the hell was watching over his life. He felt something rise in his throat and he turned onto his side, coughing up the flower petals and blood. He retched on and off for a few minutes while the song played on. He laid there after he was finished. 

He was a miserable sight, laying there in his own vomit, blood, and flower petals. He felt like he should get up, clean up his mess, but he also felt like he deserved to lay there in the filth. The song was finishing up as he finally started to get up.

‘ _ Take me to church _

_ I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies _

_ I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife _

_ Offer me that deathless death _

_ Good God let me give you my life _ ’

  
  


It was a day until his operation. He was pacing around the park, looking at the little kids laughing and playing on the playset. He couldn’t stop thinking about Alden. He was all that occupied his mind during the last few weeks.

After a few minutes he decided to pay a visit to Alden’s grave. He hadn’t been since the service. He started to walk towards his car, then fast walk, then he ran. He couldn’t seem to get there fast enough. When he reached his car, he felt out of breath. He blamed the flowers.

He drove in silence, not even turning on the stereo. He could feel the weight of his sins slowly climbing up the back of his neck. The drive to the cemetery felt slow and like it dragged on for way too long. He was scared, to go see Alden’s grave. He felt like, as long as he ignored the fact that Alden was currently rotting away with flowers and vines in his veins instead of blood he could almost imagine he was still alive.

When he got there he slowly, almost reverently walked towards where Alden laid, in a permanent, hopefully peaceful sleep. He hoped to whatever cruel being was ruling the Universe was being kind to the boy. He knew he was scared of closed spaces, and he hated that he had to be buried in a casket.

Once he found it, he sat slowly on the green green grass that covered his sleeping beauty. He swallowed, and looked around. The fields were virtually empty, save for an old woman sat peacefully next to what he presumed to be her husband’s grave.

He didn’t know when, but he started to talk. He was only slightly aware of it, most of it sounding like gibberish to his only half there man.

“I love you, Alden. I love you so much. I-I wish I had gotten the chance to tell you sooner. I guess I just hadn’t realized it, but you w- _are_ so beautiful.”

He gagged and hacked up a puddle of flowers and blood. He felt terror run through his body, shocking his arms and making them shake. He quickly decided to stop talking, this is how Alden died, he didn’t want them to be some sort of sad Romeo and Juliet story. He shakily grabbed his phone and clicked on a random playlist. Some instrumental song played.

He started to cry, he laid down on the grass, tears wracking his body, more and more petals and blood and vomit emptying from his lungs and stomach. He saw the old woman stand up to see what was happening, but his eyes were clouded with a horrible, blinding fear and tears.

He felt the vines start to invade his veins, the flowers sprouting out from his legs and shoulders. He felt the bundle of flowers start to cut off the last bit of oxygen. He scrambled to pull himself up, try and get to his phone, but everything was happening too quickly.

He thought he heard someone yell for him, someone staggering towards him in the distance, but he couldn’t call for them, the flower was in his mouth now, his mouth stuck.

He reached out weakly for his phone, he was so close to surviving. His hand fell just short, and his heart stopped just as the next song started.

‘ _ If I die young bury me satin _

_ Lay me down on a bed of roses _

_ Sink me in the river at dawn _

_ Send me away with the words of a love song _ ’

  
  


He didn’t know where he was, all he knew was that for the first time in months he felt like he could breathe again. He looked up, he was laying down on some patch of grass. He looked around until he spotted someone sitting on a little park bench. He yelled at them to get their attention, and his heart stopped when he saw who it was.

When the other man finally recognized him, he stumbled off the park bench.  _ Alden _ . That wonderful, beautiful face he hadn’t seen in so long was right there, right in front of him.

He struggled to his feet, running to the other man. When they finally reached each other he pulled him into a hug. He felt Alden’s shoulders wrack with sobs, but he knew they were the happy kind. He swiftly lifted the older man off the ground, spinning him around until they both fell to the ground into a teary eyed, laughing mess.

“ _ Quill _ .” Alden whispered, oh god, he hadn’t realized how much he missed his voice.

Quill shook with excitement and hastily pressed his lips against Aldens. After a few seconds Alden pulled away, that gorgeous smile lighting up the entire field.

They both spoke at the same time, clinging to one another like the other would disappear if they let go of one another, “I missed you.”


End file.
